


because that's love (because it's love)

by miyukitsune (orphan_account)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:25:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13164018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/miyukitsune
Summary: From a distance, it looks like Baekhyun has just put the stem of a flower in his mouth leaving the actual blossom resting on his lips.





	because that's love (because it's love)

**Author's Note:**

> so before you read here are some things to keep in mind:  
> -i suck at writing  
> -ksoo and pcy are both a year older than bbh ok  
> -i kind of ignore lots of things  
> -because im a bad writer  
> -this is pretty long i guess  
> -there are probably errors  
> -tell me if i forgot a tag  
> -its like a little bit angsty but trust me u wont cry so its safe to read in public  
> -relationships are kind of confusing in this but whatever arent they all anyways

Baekhyun likes to work in the library because nobody ever enters the library anymore. There are the lost high school students trying to find themselves a place in their grade, hoping for a book in the stretching shelves to magically bring their student rank to a double digit--but other than that, Baekhyun has only seen small kids with bright, wide eyes staring in awe at the towering stacks of stories and words.

 

Volunteer hours are not required. But Baekhyun thinks he might be in love with the library, or its atmosphere, or its silence.

 

When Baekhyun is not absent-mindedly managing the check-out counter, he's arranging books. Due to the lack of the crowd there used to be, most of the books are untouched, new and crisp to the edges of their fabric clad spines.

 

It is a waste. Baekhyun rearranges books that do not need rearranging. Sometimes, in his little corner of cheesy romance novels, he will arrange them by colour. Then, by alphabetical order. Then, by his favourites. It is time consuming, and sometimes, that is what Baekhyun needs.

 

His friends are determined to _'drag him out of this hell-hole for losers like you, Baekhyun; seriously, please just come with me to a frat party!'_ Jongdae, of course, is a party person, and he apparently wants everyone he knows to be a party person as well.

 

Baekhyun has only been to one frat party in his time at the university, and that was a mistake. He sipped poorly made punch from a plastic cup as he watched people grind on each other or throw up or grind on each other and throw up. He left barely a half hour after he had arrived. The party went on for hours, according to when the campus police decided to drive down near his dorm building.

 

Eventually, they give up. That doesn't mean Jongdae doesn't blatantly break the rules of _no food or drinks in the library_ constantly, because it seems that every other time he volunteers Jongdae is lugging in either Chinese takeout or over-sugared coffee.

 

The trash can is full of coffee cups. He sees nothing but coffee cups inside of the trash can. That's how empty the library is and how much coffee Jongdae buys.

 

But still, when the great oak doors of the library creak open, he is surprised--especially when it is at the very end of his shift, close to midnight. It's technically his job to greet people when they enter, but the manager of the library is a little old lady that just enjoys Baekhyun's company. Baekhyun doesn't mind being a caretaker as well.

 

He keeps his nose buried in his book as someone walks in, half because the chapter is almost finished and half because talking to strangers isn't his thing. Nevertheless, he lets himself peek at the figure from the top of his book.

 

The stranger is tall. All the more reason to stay away, Baekhyun reasons. Baekhyun isn't sure why he's so nervous around tall people. The stranger quickly leaves his line of view and enters one of the many genre sections.

 

The building is mostly silent after that. Baekhyun finishes his chapter and slides a bookmark in (dog-flap people are the devils), closing it and shoving it off to the side. Instead, he takes on the troubling math work that he had initially planned on doing at one in the morning.

 

He does that for ten minutes, maybe more, maybe less, when somebody coughs in front of him. Baekhyun jumps in his librarian's chair and absent-mindedly shoves his work to the side. "S-Sorry," he says, keeping his eyes down.

 

"It's fine." Tall Stranger's voice is very deep. Baekhyun looks up.

 

Tall Stranger is apparently not Tall Stranger. Tall Stranger is apparently Park Chanyeol, five years older than when Baekhyun had last seen him. Park Chanyeol is not just Park Chanyeol, either. Park Chanyeol is his ex (and before that, before _it,_ his best friend since the age of eight).

 

"Oh." Baekhyun can't really say anything else. He stares at Chanyeol (looking upwards--the chair isn't making Baekhyun much taller, anyways) and his mouth rounds, black fringe drifting over his eyes.

 

Chanyeol is looking at him, irises just as rich and brown as they were before. They're wide and curious and they are peering into Baekhyun. Baekhyun feels small, like he's being looked at through a microscope, being picked apart cell by cell. He never liked science.

 

Then he grins, and it's the same grin that Baekhyun loved seeing before they lost contact. Comparing high school Chanyeol to adult Chanyeol is like comparing a caterpillar to a butterfly. He's aged well, torso well-built and face rid of all his previous acne. "Fancy seeing you here in this old library," he says. "I'm just visiting, here to take a look at the neighbourhood again."

 

"I-I see," Baekhyun responds, tongue slipping over his words like a slick raw egg is in his mouth. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, though they still rest crooked, still distort the windows webbed in dust. They have been for the majority of his senior year.

 

Chanyeol is holding two books. Baekhyun reaches his hand out for them, also conveniently avoiding eye contact by looking at the rendering computer screen. The light bleeds into his eyes. "You're working this late?" the taller asks Baekhyun, who just nods and looks at the books Chanyeol has chosen. Both of them are science fiction stories.

 

"I have--" Baekhyun says, voice flat. _Chronic insomnia._ Chanyeol should know this--there's a reason Chanyeol had hated taking naps with Baekhyun--he would never fall asleep. "It's fine. I work in the time that I have."

 

"Oh? Where do you study?"

 

Baekhyun outstretches his hand for a library card. Chanyeol does not have one. "It's just the local uni." His voice is quiet. Of course Park Chanyeol would have studied in some great big university. "ID, please," he asks, ready to sign Chanyeol up for a library card.

 

Chanyeol hands him his driver's license. "I also need name ID and address ID." They input the information in and Baekhyun signs Chanyeol's books out in silence. Baekhyun opens one of them and the familiar smell of inked pages hits his nose, drowning his senses. This, he reminds himself, is why he loves to be in the library.

 

"Are you seeing anyone?" Chanyeol asks, just as he's about to leave--he retraces his steps and ends up in front of Baekhyun again. Baekhyun curses his luck.

 

He hums and scribbles something down on his math homework, most likely wrong. "I had a boyfriend in my first year of college. Didn't work, I guess." It wasn't a bad break up. Baekhyun had told the other that he couldn't deal with a relationship. The other told him he was moving to the other side of the world. These days, the only thing working in Baekhyun are his hands.

 

Chanyeol frowns--it's not a good look on him, though Chanyeol is still handsome. "That's not good."

 

"It's fine." His pencil breaks and he sighs, throwing it to the side and instead settling for a mechanical one. "Are you and Kyungsoo still together?"

 

"Kyungsoo and I? Yeah, we're still dating--recently engaged, actually." Chanyeol shows Baekhyun the simple silver band on his finger. Baekhyun can see his reflection in the polished ring--his face looks cracked. "I'm here to get him a book for our time here, actually. He's a writer."

 

Baekhyun wants to throw up. "That's nice. I'm doing a bit of work in the pet shop, and I TA at our old high school on free days."

 

"For real? Bring me there sometime." And Baekhyun internally, really just wants to cry. "I'd like to see how it's doing."

 

"Some time."

 

They exchange numbers--new ones. Chanyeol leaves the library. Baekhyun thinks he'll need another cup of coffee.

 

::

 

Baekhyun _does_ end up bringing Chanyeol to their high school. It's on a Thursday. There are no classes on Thursdays, because Baekhyun asked to have them all crowded into the other days of the week.

 

"This place hasn't changed at all," Chanyeol says, walking through the empty hallway.

 

He isn't wrong. The tiles are ugly and cheap, and that's what Baekhyun would say over and over again, most likely because the school was cheap and needed to cover the most area in the least amount of money as possible.  He imagined going to a school without bathroom squares as a floor.

 

They have to walk down a run-down flight of stairs to get to the class. Baekhyun inhales and bags of dust fill his lungs, weak railing rattling everytime they take a step--they were built uneven, some steep, some flat as a board.

 

"Do you remember this?" Baekhyun asks as they push open the creaking doors and enter a hallway that really doesn't look too different from a cellar. Old posters that must've been tacked up years ago are barely still hanging, only staying on the wall because of the ridiculous number of pushpins in the poster. They must've stepped on an entire family of insects at this point.

 

Chanyeol whiffs the air and almost gags. "Depressingly, yes." he grazes a hand along the concrete brick wall and draws back every time a door replaces the space between his fingers. The distant sound of screeching chairs is getting louder. They head that direction.

 

"The higher level floors were all renovated. They're about as nice as a private school's now." He takes a sharp turn into another hallway, this one full of half-lockers lining the sides instead of crumbling corkboards. "The new principal is a dick."

 

And finally, they reach the door. The one door that leads to an actual classroom. An actual classroom full of sweaty students waiting to be let out of this prison led by propaganda.

 

The door is not welcoming. It is dark gray and the knob is dirty with rust and _whatever that is._ Baekhyun turns it and walks into the classroom, Chanyeol not far off.

 

The students and the teacher don't pay heed to them. Or at least, Baekhyun doesn't notice them glancing their way. He finds himself a seat at the back of the classroom where a window should be placed, if the classroom were not underground. The only light sources in the room are the dingy lights and the occasional flash of a phone.

 

"This place really is a shithole," Chanyeol whispers to him. Baekhyun shrugs. He knows this. Half of the homework assignments thrown on his working desk are given to Chanyeol, who keeps turning the answer key around.

 

Silently, they mark. They mark until the bell rings, when they finish their marking and pull out the lunch Baekhyun had made and then continue to mark.

 

They barely make it through the first stack of homework.

 

"I can't take it." Chanyeol finally breaks and leans back in the chair, immediately wobbling backwards. "Fuck, this shit is so boring. I swear, I'm tired of looking at every single answer. Why did you take me here?"

 

"You wanted to be here, so don't complain." Baekhyun kicks Chanyeol from under the desk. The taller falls to the floor, exaggeratedly crippling in pain. "Most of the answers are usually left blank, anyways. The underground floor is kind of for delinquents. It's a prison."

 

He staggers up to his chair and sits back down. "I don't know how you can stand working like this."

 

"It's all about the money." Baekhyun is being brutally honest again. Jongdae has told him several times to stop--mostly to take care of himself before he fucks something up.

 

Eventually, a new class files into the classroom. This one is less depression and memes and more gossip and preppy. They look like they're disgusted to be in such a classroom, which Baekhyun could relate to pretty well.

 

The most obvious crowd in the class is the pop of colour at the back. It's the girls that wear shorts and skirts no matter what ice they're trudging through, the ones that are the reason behind why there is always so much chewing gum under the desks. Each one of them seems to have amassed their own closet of rainbow crop tops and hair dye.

 

Baekhyun tries not to pay attention to the girls twirling their hair and instead at the decreasing stack of homework. "Don't look at them," he advises. "They'll think you're checking them out which means they'll think you want to bang them."

 

"Would never be my type. Even without the funk clothes and gum."

 

They finish and head out. Baekhyun leads Chanyeol into the courtyard, just to show him the trees.

 

"I love here." Baekhyun hums happily as he looks up at the flourishing leaves, bright and young and eager to be pulled into the wind. "They've changed a few things, but I still love this. Here."

 

It's around ten to three in the afternoon. Chanyeol has places to go (and a fiancé to return to) Baekhyun understands. They share a hug, awkwardly tilted at one side but comforting nonetheless. "I'll see you again while I'm still here, I hope," Chanyeol promises with a deep chuckle and Baekhyun feels light and airy like the leaves on the trees. His toes want to bend upwards in excitement and his fingers tremble past his sleeves.

 

"That would be nice." They part.

 

::

 

"What's up with you?" Jongdae asks him over brunch, which isn't really brunch because it's just two bowls of cereal (Jongdae loves cereal).

 

Baekhyun had stayed over for a sleepover the last night to "study", which with Jongdae, really meant watching dramatic news channels and reruns of Mean Girls. "I'm probably coming down with a fever." This, Baekhyun is not sure of, because although his head will pulse and feel heavier than normal and his stomach will churn, he's not feeling sick in the _sick_ sense. It's more of a _hangover but not really_ kind of sick.

 

"You don't look like you have a fever." Of course Jongdae is pressing. Jongdae always presses. "You look like the guy from _Passengers_ after the girl realized he was a dick."

 

"We don't talk about that movie." He groans and leans back, which is a bad idea because he is sitting on an ottoman and proceeds to fall backwards onto the thin rug that doesn't shield his head _at all_ from the wood floor. "Fuck your rug," Baekhyun declares.

 

Jongdae apparently has decided that now would be the best time to kick Baekhyun's legs that remained on the ottoman onto the floor with him and prop his own feet up. "Afraid you'll cry again?" He taunts the crippled figure of Baekhyun on the floor until their cereal goes soggy.

 

::

 

Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are, to Baekhyun's discomfort, probably the most perfect a couple would be. Not only does Chanyeol whole-heartedly agree with Kyungsoo's furniture decisions in their house in Seoul and admire him like a puppy, but he also kisses Kyungsoo's forehead every time he walks past, looks at, or is within fifty feet of Kyungsoo.

 

This is why Baekhyun didn't want to visit their temporary apartment (rented completely furnished). He's sitting on the loveseat by himself with a steaming cup of tea and with Kyungsoo perpendicular to him on the three-seater, talking about literature and books and _yes, coffee is overrated._ Baekhyun cannot help but like Kyungsoo--especially since he's got a good taste in tea and books. They are sharing small talk as they read leather-spine books in the airy room.

 

"It's strange that I haven't really read any of your books," Baekhyun comments when he's finished another chapter of his book. "I spend some of my free time in a fairly large library, so I'm usually running my hand along the spines of the books, but I don't believe I've ever seen one of your works."

 

Kyungsoo crosses his legs. "I used to experiment with drama but I think science fiction is my strongest point as of now." He reaches over for the side table and takes a brown-cover book, healthily paged. "Specifically the Steampunk sub-genre."

 

He lends the book to Baekhyun, who takes it with delicate hands. The first thing Baekhyun does is open the book and feel the quality of the pages--they're not the best he's ever felt but definitely not cheap at all. The cover is engraved with thin carvings and marks, with the title and Kyungsoo's name printed neatly.

 

"I think you're my new role model." Baekhyun lets out a thin laugh. They talk more about the library, and then about studying.

 

"Babe, I'm home," Chanyeol calls from the entrance where he's just opened the door. Baekhyun briefly remembers Kyungsoo telling him that Chanyeol would be on a few errands when he had just knocked on the door.

 

Chanyeol walks farther into the room. "Hey, Baek," he says, giving a gentle wave of his hand before unceremoniously dropping the plastic bags on the kitchen island. The rattling of the groceries rubbing against the plastic is loud, and it is interesting enough to stop Baekhyun from starting his next chapter.

 

"Don't mind him," Kyungsoo tells him with a quiet voice, then turning his back on him to lean over the back of the couch. "Do you need some help with that?" he calls.

 

Baekhyun turns around to look at Chanyeol, too. He's unpacking the thermos bag first, the one with two tubs of ice cream and a carton of orange juice. "I think I got this," he responds. Kyungsoo almost turns back around and Chanyeol takes one tub of ice cream ad opens the refrigerator.

 

It's like Kyungsoo can sense the trouble when he shoots up from his seat and runs over to the fridge. "I swear, you're hopeless," he grumbles, kicking Chanyeol in the knee and swiftly moving the ice cream to the freezer. "The fruits go in the bottom drawers."

 

Baekhyun feels like he is watching a romance movie from the front seat in a cheap cinema--or maybe he feels like an extra wandering around the wrong set. Either way, it's too natural how the two bicker and argue over such small things, how Chanyeol's smiles are always so deep around Kyungsoo that his dimples constantly show, how Kyungsoo can't help but reciprocate a small grin as well. Baekhyun thinks his fever is intensifying.

 

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" he says once Kyungsoo has returned to the cult of couches. "I feel a bit light-headed and I think I need to get myself back together." It's not the truth but it's also not a lie. Baekhyun doesn't talk about how it feels like his insides are trying to dance girl groups inside of him.

 

Kyungsoo points down a hallway. "First one to the left," he says, eyes happy and bright. Baekhyun thanks him and runs into the room and locks the door behind him.

 

 _A bit light-headed_ has turned into a sudden break-out of sweat. It feels sticky and repugnant n his forehead and his eyes drop as soon as he sees himself in the reflection. He is still smiling, the one that he has desperately tried to keep glued on his face, the one that is slowly peeling off with every sweet word or pet name stained in his brain.

 

The feeling from his head goes down to his stomach, where the churning has turned into a disaster, a flood of _something_. He does not want it. He doesn't want this impregnation of just pure feeling, not good and not bad, just the realization that something is pressing on his skin.

 

Baekhyun coughs. He does so bent over the sink with an unsteady back, one hand gripping the side of the counter and the other held tightly over his mouth. The ragged coughs sends his head forward every time and then something is coming up from his stomach to his throat. He barked once more, forcing his throat to move the dry flakes, and they land in his hand.

 

He pulls back and looks at the petals in his hand, wispy and thin and tinted with one of the prettiest violets he's ever seen. They curl up at the sides and feel not dry but soft and alive.

 

The carousel spinning in his head creaks and slows and it is over. Baekhyun looks at the petals in his hand. There are petals in his hand. He coughed petals into his hand. He has purple petals in his hand. He coughed up petals. He is coughing petals. In his hand are coughed-up petals. There are petals in his throat. He is going to die.

 

Baekhyun throws them into the convenient flower pot growing some sort of succulent and covers them with soil. There are only a spare few, not much different than the small coins he finds in his pocket from time to time. He wonders if they are only coins, anyways, and that he is delusional. He coughed petals into his hand.

 

He unlocks the door and walks out, looking at the clock. Barely a minute has passed. There are petals growing inside him. Kyungsoo looks at him and smiles. "Feeling okay?" he says with a motherly undertone.

 

"Yeah. Thank you." Baekhyun had almost left his smile in the bathroom--he quickly glues it back on and sits down with crescent-shaped eyes and a dull grin.

 

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Kyungsoo offers, scratching his head. "We can all talk together in the kitchen while I cook up some tteokbokki."

 

Baekhyun wants to leave this apartment. It's no longer as open and tranquil as he had once thought of it as. He wants to get out and go home where the blankets are never made and there is no sign of plants at all. "Sure," he replies, and he stays for dinner. His eyes are dry and dead.

 

::

 

_"I like you," Baekhyun says, looking at Chanyeol with what he thinks are the happiest eyes he's ever made. Chanyeol only smiles back, and the both of them are so ridiculously happy--maybe they're too young, but Baekhyun thinks that his crush on his childhood friend could turn into love in the future._

_He and Chanyeol are sitting in the latter's backyard under the great big tree. Baekhyun's knees are pulled up to his chest and he tries not to blush when Chanyeol nervously holds his hand. "I'm going to high school in a month."_

_They're one year apart. As Baekhyun is preparing for himself to spend his last year before high school carefree, Chanyeol is just pent-up stress. "I can wait, then."_

_They agree. "When you come to high school, I'll wait and then I'll ask you out," Chanyeol promises, linking his pinkie finger with Baekhyun's the same way they have been for the past few years, "and if you find someone else then I'll remind you that you promised, we promised," and all Baekhyun wants to do is fall asleep holding Chanyeol's hand._

_"I promise," he says._

::

 

The next time he sees either Kyungsoo or Chanyeol is on volunteering night again. This time, it's not Chanyeol who forces the doors open but Kyungsoo. The latter almost immediately lands his eyes on Baekhyun sliding a few books into their shelves and shows up behind him, holding a small book bag.

 

"Hi, hyung," Baekhyun says, keeping his eyes on the different-font letters on the spines of the books.

 

Finally, he turns, and Kyungsoo reaches a hand into the bag to pull out the book that Chanyeol had signed out for him the week prior. "I'm here to return this," he says, as if he's asking a question. Baekhyun nods, drops the basket of books onto the shelf and mentally tells himself to remember to finish putting those back later.

 

They return to the front. Baekhyun doesn't want to sit down, so he just bends over and takes the book, scans it, and inputs Chanyeol's' library card number. "Would you like to sign out another book?" he asks, because he's been told to ask like a good volunteer.

 

"Actually yes." Kyungsoo fumbles around in his pockets for a while before pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Do you have--er _\--_ " Kyungsoo shows Baekhyun the piece of paper instead of attempting to pronounce it.

 

"English or Korean translation?" Baekhyun _does_ sit himself down, because he hates typing words standing up. Kyungsoo is looking for the English one (to help his vocabulary, he says) so Baekhyun inputs it into the library search monitor and finds it in Historical Fiction. He's not sure if this is the right genre, but he'll leave it for now.

 

The library is less of a library and more of a labyrinth the longer Baekhyun stays here. Although the entrance is grand and the ceiling is open, it's soon replaced by the narrow spaces between the shelves and the suffocating smell of old and new papers all together.

 

_Down the first aisle, turn left at Science Fiction. Walk past two intersections. Go to Fiction. Left. Right, right. No, not right, left. Left again. Straight. Straight._

The book itself is not remarkably thick, but it isn't so thin that it's hard to find. Baekhyun eventually slots it out of its home and quickly pats the dust on the cover down, carrying it like a child to the front.

 

They sign it out and Kyungsoo puts it in his bag. He turns on his heel but then turns himself right back, head tilted. "Would you like to come to coffee with me?" he offers, voice stuttering. "There's a cafe that's open twenty four hours that I found down the street and I think I'm going to have to stay up to finish a chapter."

 

"I'd love to," Baekhyun replies, because he is nothing short of a _good person._ Or so he likes to think--but either way, he packs his textbooks and homework and follows Kyungsoo out of the library. He waves the manager goodbye as she turns the lights off.

 

::

 

The cafe is not really down the street and more down the block. It's not that Baekhyun is so out of shape that walking this extra bit is tiring, but it's getting darker and darker and he's never been this happy to see the cozy lights in the cafe and the scent of freshly-brewed coffee.

 

The menu is not big. Kyungsoo takes a medium roast, with something and something added, and without something. Baekhyun settles for a muffin.

 

Baekhyun thinks that the regular tables and chairs aren't as appealing as the plush couches surrounding the fake fireplace. They sit there and Kyungsoo sips at his coffee like how he sips at his tea (although it's overrated, Kyungsoo argues, it's enjoyable). The muffin is delicious. Baekhyun is fairly sure there are crumbs on his nose.

 

Kyungsoo notices this. "Would you like another one?" he offers, voice as sweet as the muffin itself. Baekhyun looks down at the messy wrapper and laughs at himself.

 

"It's fine, hyung, I got it--" They both take their wallets out at the same time. While Kyungsoo's is properly leather and has cards for almost every slot, Baekhyun's is dog themed and really has no space for anything other than a few bills and spare change. He's had it for seven years.

 

They stare at each other, or maybe they stare at Baekhyun's wallet, before breaking out in laughter. "The dog ears are pockets too," Baekhyun thinks is important to add as well.

 

Either way, Baekhyun lets Kyungsoo give him a couple more bills in lieu of sitting with him late at night in a cafe. Kyungsoo's wallet is something that you would expect, full of gift cards and redeemable coupons. There is, in the plastic slide, a picture of Kyungsoo receiving a back hug from Chanyeol. "He's still just as sweet as he was five years ago," Kyungsoo sighs in content, a complete opposite as to how he acts when Chanyeol is actually present.

 

(It's nothing big. Baekhyun likes knowing things, taking note of things.)

 

Baekhyun smiles and walks over to the register, asking for another muffin. As the barista walks over to the display to pull out the shelf with the muffins, Baekhyun coughs. He does it silently, muffling his loud noises with his shoulder, but the inevitable build-up in his throat is there.

 

It resolves quicker than the last time. Baekhyun doesn't know what this means, still--he doesn't know what the petals as slender as his fingers mean, he doesn't know what the pretty purple in his throat means, he doesn't know.

 

But he does know that at this angle, neither Kyungsoo nor the barista can see him drop the petals on the pretty tiled floor. They land silently and Baekhyun drags his foots forwards to kick them under the counter. He accepts the muffin, hands the barista the money, and returns to his seat.

 

"Are you sick?" Kyungsoo asks Baekhyun.

 

::

 

The mirror is not complimenting Baekhyun very much right now. It's supposed to make him feel attractive, pretty, sexy, but all it does is twist his face so that his eyes are heavily bagged and his lips almost look as if they're tinted blue, or purple, the shade of purple, _that shade of purple._

 

He wipes the mirror down with a wet towel that's too wet--the water collects in groups and dribbles down the smooth glass drawing in the colours that the mirror reflects and bringing them down as well. They fall right past the reflection of Baekhyun's eye, and he looks like he's crying. Baekhyun touches his cheek with trembling fingers. his skin doesn't feel hydrated. The container of lotion is in the trash can, resting on a bed of purple petals.

 

He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. Is he okay? He is okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. He is okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. Will he be okay? He will be okay. He will be okay. He will be okay. He is okay. He is okay.

 

A clear face. Baekhyun will regain his face using oils and pigments and creams, yes, but he will regain his face. The towel is wiping down his face, cleaning off the dry flakes of skin and disgusting skin. Baekhyun repeats this with warm water next, scrubs his face until it burns like the sun, rinses and washes until he feels like his memories are going down the drain along with the excess water.

 

Still, his skin is bubbling with baby red, baby bumps that are waiting to be grown. Foundation. Concealer. Baekhyun dabs them on his fingers and melts them into his skin until he looks like a page from a magazine.

 

But there are still problems. There will always be problems, especially the deep marks of black and brown underneath his eyes. Baekhyun pulls at the bags, tries to magically wish them away forever, but that would mean a good night's sleep (which he is all too unfamiliar with).

 

Maybe he looks okay without caking himself in makeup. _I'm staining my skin,_ Baekhyun realizes, and he tears the makeup off just as soon as he's put it on.

 

Yes. He'll go outside.

 

_My eyes._

 

No, he can't, because he'll scare people away. Maybe a bit of eyeliner, or a bit of colour-correcting, or something to hide his suffering from the purity and innocence of the outside world.

 

When he leaves the bathroom, he carries with him a trash bag full of empty makeup tubes and petals, more and more petals.

 

::

 

The place he is going goes from the library to the doctor's office. The scratching in his stomach is a new development as is the pressing on his throat, and every day Baekhyun isn't sure if he's going to live another day without a bouquet splitting his stomach.

 

"I'm Doctor Zhang Yixing, but to be honest, I don't really care what you refer to me as." The doctor has a slender face and he looks a bit like he's had enough sugar to last him a lifetime. "I specialize in the really shitty diseases, like Hanahaki." He shrugs and ignores Baekhyun's attempt to move off of the cold examination table. "Which is what I assume you're here for, anyways."

 

"Are you even qualified to be a doctor?" Baekhyun, sometimes, knows that he needs to shut up. Yixing doesn't seem to be very affected by this--maybe he agrees with Baekhyun more than Baekhyun agrees with Baekhyun.

 

"I'm not the one throwing up flowers," Yixing retorts, pointing to the wall behind the exam table. Baekhyun scoots up against it and Yixing squats on the floor in front of him, holding the stethoscope to his ears and the Diaphragm to Baekhyun's stomach. "Breathe in like you're running a marathon," Yixing tells him, which would probably be just as effective without _like you're running a marathon_. However, Baekhyun inhales deeply, and he can _feel_ something on the insides of his stomach, grinding inside of his stomach.

 

"Holy shit, it sounds like there's a tree inside of there." Yixing is talkative but kind of quiet at the same time. "I'm not supposed to give you this, but seriously, listen."

 

Baekhyun does, and he breathes extra hard to hear the tangle of--what's probably vines--growing, like he can hear them stretching and reaching upwards to his throat, the only place sunlight will ever reach in his trunk of a body.

 

"I don't want to say you need an X-ray, but you need an X-ray." Yixing looks at him, wiggling his eyebrows as he taps on Baekhyun's stomach. "That's the only way we'll see what the fuck is going on in there, and how we're going to get that out with the least damage done possible."

 

At the prospect of removing the knot of vines, Baekhyun feels it disturb his stomach. "Wait--" He stops himself at Yixing's expectant eyes, all movement paused to look at Baekhyun with his hand stretched out. "Do--Is it necessary get it removed?"

 

Yixing looks at him curiously an, instead of the doctor's desk, walks to the cabinets at the side. "We _do_ have a few records of people surviving Hanahaki without having their feelings necessarily returned by the other one," he says, _other one_ probably meaning the unobtainable, the loved, the ones that can't return those feelings. "It's a risk to let whatever plant it is grow, though. There are far, far more deaths than survivors."

 

"Show me."

 

Yixing does. He takes one of the files and opens it, thumbs through the first few stapled documents before pulling one out. "The thing is, falling out of love and in love with someone else that still doesn't love you back doesn't do much, really. It wilts the flower in your stomach to make space for a new one, and that just keeps going and going, if you're someone that likes to jump around from interest to interest. But cases like this girl," he explains, holding the document in front of Baekhyun, "are weird. They were unnatural."

 

Baekhyun takes the document, first with one hand as a question and then with two, looking at the descriptions, printed in a font small enough to make Baekhyun wish he brought his glasses.

 

He reads, and Yixing keeps talking. "She was being hospitalized after she had rejected surgery several times and ended up almost choking to death. Woke up without any signs of the disease in her system. She just stopped having it and kept loving whoever the fuck she was loving--maybe it was a married man, maybe a high school sweetheart, but she loved and loved him without vomiting flowers."

 

Baekhyun turns the page, but all that is there is basic information about the girl. Age, height, weight. He throws the document to the side of the examination table and looks at Yixing. "What are you not telling me?"

 

"Well shit," Yixing chuckles, quiet and solemn. "There was this thing I heard of, way in Seoul, where a girl was in love with some other girl, and technically, it was supposed to be fine. Other girl fell in love with her too, and the first girl was supposed to lose her disease."

 

"And then--"

 

"She relapsed a month after signs of the disease stopped. Choked on petals in her bed a week later." Yixing runs a hand through his hair. "This shit is fucking sick."

 

"You swear a lot for a doctor," Baekhyun says.

 

Yixing shrugs. "I think it's just that people in general don't swear enough."

 

Maybe he is right. Maybe Baekhyun should swear more, let out strings of curses all at one time and show the world and whoever cares how much he doesn't. To whoever who would listen to him, he would yell and scream until every word in his stomach was on the floor with violet petals, until his body was hollow and his skin was ceramic.

 

There are tears welling up in the corner of his eyes, fresh drops emerging like a leak at the bottom of a great pirate ship, spouting big and small at the same time. He makes the mistake of blinking--usually, Baekhyun will hold his breath and widen his eyes to let the tears back into whatever cave they came from--and then a trickle of tears streaks its way down his cheek, staining whatever (baby red) is waiting under his skin.

 

"Are you--" Yixing looks like he's at a loss for words. "Are you okay?"

 

Baekhyun does not just cry. His body slumps down onto the examination table in a crumpled ball and he sobs, petals flying up his throat along with the choked cries of pain. He briefly sees Yixing rushing forwards before his hair falls in front of his eyes, sticking to his face and his tears. One strand is caught in his eye. He shuts them and feels the liquid pool at the bottom of his chin.

 

"Oh shit," Yixing says as he wipes Baekhyun's face down the best he can at this awkward angle, soaking the tissue faster than intended. He pats Baekhyun on the back and holds up fresh tissues to his eyes until Baekhyun's strangled weeps are reduced to muted whimpers at the back of his throat. The petals are soaking up Baekhyun's tears much better than the tissues are. 

 

"S-Sorry," he says through trembling lips, pouting and thick. They are wet, just like the rest of his face. This is embarrassing.

 

Yixing runs a hand through his hair, momentarily showing the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I'm not really used to patients crying," he admits. "It's a new development."

 

He helps Baekhyun sit up, although his back is still bent and he can't quite land a solid grip on the cheap plastic material. "I'll help clean it up," Baekhyun says with a shaking voice, speech cut by his running nose.

 

"You," Yixing begins, "should get some rest. I'll take care of this." The petals on the floor are wrinkled, looking more like dried prunes than the remnants of a flower's beauty.

 

Baekhyun agrees. He leaves the room with Yixing calling for him to come back next week for his next check up. People look at him outside.

 

::

 

 _It's not a date,_ Baekhyun constantly reminds himself, although out of context, anybody would call it a date. That's because the fact that Chanyeol is engaged and in a healthy relationship is out of the picture for this little bit, this part where Baekhyun can pretend and feel like he's in high school again, with a heavy heart and a huge crush on the school's most popular jock.

 

This, this would be a cliché. It would be cliché to think of it as a cliché. Baekhyun, boring old nerd in the background is asked out by Park Chanyeol, the Park Chanyeol whose name is said every second in the class.

 

 _It's not a date,_ Baekhyun constantly reminds himself.

 

Even though they _have_ done a lot of talking ever since Chanyeol's decision to come visiting, they've never really had the specific chat where they drink a bit of coffee, catch up in a neat little cafe with cups of hot chocolate, and that is the part f their story that isn't cliché.

 

And it is too cold outside for it to be a movie. Baekhyun hates the weather. He also hates the petals in his trash can. It's too cold for him to be out so early, because he's an idiot and he's trying too hard. An hour early. He's going to be an hour early.

 

It's good that the coffee shop is open this early in the morning, though, because he wouldn't want to camp outside of the door with the promise of heat and warmth just a glass window away.

 

The rest of the world is asleep. Baekhyun realizes this when he looks outside from the cafe and all the lights are dimly lit, spreading a cozy orange hue along the streets and the buildings. The coffee shop is playing soft, cute music, reaching only his ears, where they strum rhythms and melodies he can't quite recognize.

 

And the mood is guitar chords, soft voices and harmonization, piano keys lilting in the background. It smells like blueberry muffins even though behind the counter is nothing but shadows. It is cozy and it makes Baekhyun want to melt into his chair, fall asleep and never wake up. He needs more sleep, sometimes. There is not enough time under his thick blankets to survive a dozen hours outside.

 

An hour passes like that, as the same tune plays over and over on repeat in the coffee shop. Baekhyun watches as the city comes to life and the dim streetlights are replaced with the bright entrance of the sun.

 

Twice. Chanyeol walks in after a growing line of customers. Baekhyun almost wants to cancel everything, just enjoy the music and the quiet chatter behind the grinding of his teeth, but Chanyeol spots him almost as soon as he walks in.

 

"You look tired." Chanyeol's eyes are lined with worry and curiosity. Baekhyun wonders if he actually does look tired or if it's just the fact that he's been leaning down into his scarf for the majority of the time. Chanyeol sits down in front of him, and Baekhyun is now hyper-aware that the blueberry muffin scent is much stronger than it was before.

 

He considers saying, _I couldn't sleep._ He does not. He considers saying, _Do I?_ He does not. "I'm fine," he settles for, rubbing his eyes gently and trying to contain his yawn. It's an obvious lie, but he knows that Chanyeol knows better than to say anything further. "Have you eaten?"

 

"Been starving myself to try some of the baked goods here," Chanyeol chuckles. His dimples are showing. Baekhyun loves those dimples. He remembers touching them, watching them suck his finger in. He remembers that beside those dimples was his favourite smile in the world, bright and cheerful and the only motivation he needed.

 

"Well, I read Kyungsoo's book." Baekhyun changes the subject, or whatever they're changing in the end. "It's very well written for a budding author. Think I could get an autograph?" It alleviates the mood.

 

"I'm flattered--"

 

"--it's not your book--"

 

"--well then, on behalf of Kyungsoo, I'm flattered." Chanyeol sips at his coffee. "He's probably willing to give you a few free copies, too, considering how much he likes your presence."

 

Baekhyun sighs in contentment as they sit, crossing and uncrossing his ankles. The warm cocoa he has in front of him reaches his upper lip and eventually his tongue, trickling down a small path in the middle. "I think I should tell you that I adopted a puppy yesterday."

 

Chanyeol looks like he's about to spit his coffee out--makes sense, because although Chanyeol is an avid dog lover, Kyungsoo is allergic. "Since when?" he says to probably everyone in the shop.

 

"Tomorrow." Baekhyun rolls his eyes. "Yesterday, dude. I just said so." Baekhyun's been wanting a puppy since who knows how long, and now that he's got one jumping around in his dorm, he wants to squeal. "King Charles Cavalier. Cutest thing I've rested my eyes on. I live in the pets-allowed dorm building, too."

 

This, is true, Baekhyun thinks. Chanyeol suddenly looks jealous and he retracts his head back so that his chin has an extra fold. Baekhyun resists the urge to snort. "How much was she?"

 

"I didn't adopt her, actually," Baekhyun says, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "She probably escaped from one, or something, but I found her in an alleyway with no sign of identification."

 

"Can't you get in trouble for that?" Chanyeol wiggles his eyebrows. He sounds like a second grader laughing because his friend was called to the office.

 

He probably can, but Baekhyun doesn't care, because it's totally worth having a puppy. "Maybe. We'll see what happens. I've wanted a pet for how long?"

 

"Lots and lots of years," Chanyeol answers. His fingers are drumming against the table. "In fact, I think I vaguely remember wishing for a puppy like that."

 

 _You're right. We promised each other we would adopt one when we turned into adults,_ Baekhyun wants to say. He doesn't. Instead, he downs the auburn-coloured cocoa and wrinkles his face at the feeling of it sliding down uncomfortably in his throat. When he sets the mug back down, there is a long petal floating atop the sunken clouds of whipped cream.

 

::

 

The water pitcher is empty _again._ Maybe it's because Baekhyun never remembers to fill it in the brim, never remembers to fill it up after drinking and drinking from it, to fill the bottomless pit that is his stomach, or to fill his brain and float the thoughts staining it away from him, down his throat and back up his mouth.

 

He's been growing more and more thirsty these days. Maybe it's good for him, maybe it's good that he's finally taking care of himself, but Baekhyun knows that the excessive amount of water he's been consuming isn't for himself. It's for the growing pain that is pressed against his insides and shaped like a staircase, climbing.

 

The filter could not do its purpose any slower than now. Baekhyun's back is slumped over from the tall chair to the island overhang where he watched the water, pure and clear, run through the filter, coming out still pure and clear. Drip, goes one piece, free to itself and by itself until another one joins it.

 

And then they're joined together, formed into one as their colours dance without colour, blind and deaf and stupidly in love, and Baekhyun wants to break his glass on the floor and slice his palm picking the pieces up.

 

The cup is full and Baekhyun downs it like it's wine, freshly made wine. He imagines, or maybe he doesn't, that it drizzles down his throat like a rain to his insides, refreshing and new and different. Instead, the more he moves his throat to swallow the water, the more he feels the stringy tangle of stems move around. It's not floating, instead clinging to the walls of his throat and climbing up slowly like the word vomit he can't seem to avoid, word vomit, hanging trees, he's going to die, flowers at midnight, prom night, the park, fairies.

 

At this point, he's feeding the evolving plant with liquid, bathing it in sunlight every time he coughs more of its petals onto the floor. Even when he tries to parch his throat so the flower can wither away and become a lifeless husk of skin, described from experience, the water in his body escapes through his eyes onto his face everywhere, staining his skin and his lips, and finally, always into his mouth. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts.

 

Inhale, there is the scratch. Exhale, two more pounds have been dropped into his mouth. Inhale, his breath hitches and he chokes. Exhale, comes out petals. Inhale, his arms feel heavy and his head feels heavier. Exhale, his body is thrown forward, supported by the kitchen counter more than his own two feet.

 

"Shit," he says, more to the flower inside of him than himself. His hand crawls up his chest and lands on his throat, finger pads pressing onto the bulge, slightly to the left, and there's more pain. He winces and leaves it. There's no way he c n work like this.

 

Even his phone won't cooperate with him, fingers shaking when he accidentally enters the wrong password over and over again. It locks him out for thirty seconds and he breaks down, bones melting and sending him to kneel on the floor. His phone remains unharmed as it lands on its protected back. Baekhyun wishes.

 

It's maybe the most depressing half a minute he's ever spent, maybe more depressing than waiting on the swing set (but really, there will never be anything in his life more depressing than waiting on _that_ swing set.)

 

The dial comes slower than usual, or maybe Baekhyun's sense of time is twisted and curved like the marble pattern of his countertop. He traces a defined black line leading into more abstract splashes of grays and whites, forever trapped under the clear polish and many, many bowls.

 

Voicemail. That's probably better. Baekhyun doesn't think he can really deal with a person right now.

 

"Hey, I don't think I can make my shift tomorrow," he says, and _fuck,_ his voice sounds like it's been mauled by a cat. He coughs a couple times, maybe for dramatic effect, maybe because there's another clump of shit clogging his oesophagus. "I think I've come down with a fever or something. I'll try to be there in the next few days." He regrets making the choice to talk.

 

"Thanks," and then he hangs up. There's no way he's going to talk while throwing up plant cells, he thinks as he holds his stomach and bends over, barking up petals that look less purple and more red than usual, the shavings of the stem (they're very thin), and more red. Red, splatters of red, the thin lines that paint the floor and paint the petals and paint the flower remains.

 

Never has he ever hacked up blood before, but there's a first for everything. Baekhyun doesn't know how to properly clean blood without hurting his precious kitchen floor, so he settles for picking the petals and leaf skins off first and then covering the area in warm water.

 

The paper towels kind of work, but there's a fading streak of red still there. The internet tells him to use laundry detergent.

 

His puppy is a heavy sleeper.

 

::

 

The flower inside of him is not only painful, but too pretty to be ignored. Baekhyun goes to a florist's shop with a packed brain, thoughts pulled together like peanuts in a jar,

 

The elegant floral scent invades his nostrils almost immediately, searing themselves in his nose buds, melting and spreading through the rest of his body. _Stop and smell the flowers_ has always played a very minor part in Baekhyun's life, looking up from the basement at words like _the richest man is not he who has the most, but he who needs the least_ and _even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there._

Along with the smell is the colours, dots of paint embedded on each millimetre of the wall. The store, to Baekhyun's dismay, is sorted by species and not by colour (the way it should be sorted, really, but Baekhyun's always had an eye for pretty things). He can't be the only one who would rather stare at a rainbow blended well together than suffer through purple petals beside gray ones.

 

There is nobody manning the counter. That means Baekhyun can safely wander around without the fear of anyone watching him, since even the large windows are patched up by entire bushels of roses.

 

Shoved in the pockets of his jeans are petals. His last cough had him throwing up bloody petals more than clean ones, so he took the time to run them under some water and dab at them with a towel, ridding them of the mahogany residue. The ones that are now in his palm are clean and crisp, almost fresh, as if he had plucked them off of a stem itself.

 

"Hey, can I help you?" The new voice makes Baekhyun straighten his back, hurriedly cupping his hands together to cover up the petals. He turns, and there's suddenly someone behind the counter, with bits of leaves resting in his hair and smile too wide for such an empty day. Eyes too bright, face too happy, hands too excited. On his green-white uniform is a name tag that's hanging by a thread. Baekhyun at first reads _Kim Taeyeon_ , but then rubs his sore eyes away and properly scripts _Kim Taehyung._ Taeyeon is his ex-crush turned closest confidante. Taeyeon is not a man.

 

"No," Baekhyun says at first, then realizing that he sounds like an ass. "Nevermind. Yes." He hopes Taehyung isn't a curious kind.

 

Taehyung raises his eyebrows and tightens his lips. "Rough day?" he asks, finally seeming to notice the bird house in his hair, batting away the plant skins.

 

"Couldn't breathe for the first few seconds of it." Baekhyun separates his hands and drops the petals on the counter. They look a lot more dry than they did when he first hacked them up. "Think you could help me identify what kind of flower this little asshat belongs to?"

 

Realization replaces curiosity in Taehyung's eyes--his entire face falls as well. His eyes squint together until they're nothing but dark orbs looking through slits, nose scrunching up and lips slightly parted. He takes the petals in his larger, much less cared for hands and looks at them closely. "Follow me," he says, sliding his way out of the counter and into the open breadth of the shop. "Man, I wish this place was colour coded."

 

Baekhyun follows Taehyung. "The petals are pretty slim and long, so I'm assuming they're probably from a daisy," he says without much of a thought, as if he's been trained to list facts and facts off of the top of his head. "Not a rose, cause your throat probably would have ripped by now, and not a tulip, cause those are bitches."

 

They _do_ walk into the daisy wall, situated at the back and well away from any living beings other than their flower brethren. "This, maybe?" Taehyung suggests, twirling and presenting a pink-purple tinted flower. "This is _Osteospermum_ , a sort of daisy bush or something."

 

It's similar, but not exact. "How about that?" Baekhyun asks, pointing behind Taehyung to a small corner that's housing mismatched rejects. It looks like the right spot for a flower that would be growing in his throat.

 

"This is the Korean starwort, or _Aster koraiensis_ if you want to be formal." They both hold it like it's a child. "Pale violet colour, wispy petals, shaped kind of like a star. _Aster_ means star in Greek. Nobody knows what it represents."

 

"It's pretty," and this is the truth. The petals look much more delicate when they're attached to a stem, lilting slightly upwards with faint dark lines climbing along its front, strung taut together like a pull cord. Backstage, the petals want to fight each other. "Can I buy a bouquet of them?"

 

Taehyung snorts. "We have like, three of these, but if you want, I can help you match them with some other flowers."

 

"That would be nice, please," and then Taehyung takes all three of them and places them on the counter.

 

He works in silence. Baekhyun tilts himself back and forth on his heels. Taehyung brings back an entire tree's worth of flowers. "My puppy won't like that," he says, and at the mention of _puppy won't like that_ Taehyung slips trying to put everything back.

 

After that, they talk together, about what looks nice with daisies and what doesn't. Their conversation goes from what goes to what doesn't go to Baekhyun's opinions on flowers to Baekhyun's opinion on a flower inside his throat. "It's itchy," he says, and they laugh.

 

"You know, contrary to popular belief, it's not whoever you're in love with's favourite flower." The words _in love_ aren't very nice to Baekhyun's head. "It's any kind of species or flower or colour or any other adjective that matters to you, your relationship, your shithole of an ex."

 

"Ah yes, you've had some bad relationships--what are you, sixteen?" Baekhyun scoffs at Taehyung's face twisting.

 

He looks like he's about to drop a diss track. "I'm twenty," Taehyung replies. "Going to graduate. I've had some shit boyfriends too. Made the mistake of dating when I was fifteen."

 

Baekhyun's only been in one relationship. "I did too. Lasted for like, three years or something. Before that, we were best friends." He wets his lips, feeling how chapped they are with one flick of his tongue. "How many significant others have you had?"

 

"Three? My first one lasted a year. The next one was three months until she decided I wasn't good enough. And the last was the best--he was sweet."

 

Taehyung's voice is breaking up, like how Baekhyun's throat is breaking up. "Happened to you, too, didn't it," Baekhyun murmurs, hands frozen on the stems of the petunias.

 

From this angle, Baekhyun can see the edges of Taehyung's eyes close together. "It was two years ago when I found out he was cheating, one and a half years since he announced his new relationship, a year ago that I got the surgery." Taehyung is still messily wrapping flower stems together, pink ribbon sliding across the green skin of the stem.

 

"What about him?" Baekhyun feels bad for prodding further. If Taehyung minds, he doesn't show it.

 

"We're friends. He's been telling me about how he's going to propose to his boyfriend after College." Taehyung laughs loudly. "I'm okay."

 

As Taehyung's hands work diligently to finish the bouquet, Baekhyun's mind is reeling an entire script to a movie based around Taehyung's sob story. _Average guy meets Manic Pixie Dream Girl, falls in love, gets cheated on, goes under the scalpel to get rid of his feelings._ A blockbuster, maybe, topping the charts with unimaginable numbers. Critics would have their mouths hang open at the unhappy ending, the one that's slowly growing cliché, growing like the vines on the side of that one house in the neighbourhood. Stories that are opposite to fairy tales, with character development and a realistic plot, are slowly climbing up Baekhyun's long list of dislikes.

 

"Do you still have feelings for him?" Baekhyun asks as he pays Taehyung.

 

Taehyung shrugs and hands Baekhyun the bouquet. "Who knows. Would you like a bag with that?"

 

::

 

_Baekhyun thinks he's lighter than he really is, especially when he's holding Chanyeol's hand the way he is. They're trudging forward in the long grass and thin trees, deeper and deeper into the woods until all Baekhyun can hear is the whistling of the sweet birds and the rustling of the leaves, twirling about in their midnight romp. The stars align themselves, fitted between the gaps of the trees, glowing from light years away onto Baekhyun's face. He feels warm, although the night is undoubtedly chilly (warm in the way that his face fills with happiness and joy, youth). Baekhyun knows that behind the mass of trees and behind the butterflies clouding his stomach there is space, an open breadth in which to fly in and melt into._

_"Just past there," Chanyeol says, voice grainy--grains of sand and gravel, and then the ocean crashes just by Baekhyun's ear. Chanyeol's words roll off of his tongue like a prayer, cleaning the tapestry that is Baekhyun._

_He points to an opening that is barely a cut in the world, vines falling and blanketing the path. Even so, they are curtains, curtains that act like rose petals that wait to bloom and spread, spreading for the beautiful drops of pollen to grow yet another flower._

_Baekhyun takes another step closer. Hints of day-old raindrops and velvet petals mix with the inevitable taste of sugar in his mouth. The stars seem to pull at the trees, dragging them to a side and then another. He thinks that Chanyeol knows the best spots--Chanyeol, his best friend, his sweetheart, his valentine._

_A chorus of crickets join the symphony in Baekhyun's ringing ears. Then, it's Chanyeol's voice again. "Follow me." His hand falls from Baekhyun's grip and he takes the lead, brushing past the singing leaves and the dancing branches that dangle with wishes, promises, dreams of romance. Romance is staple, Baekhyun wants romance out of a book, romance is soft confessions over hot chocolate and cuddling against each other with pillows on the bed._

_Baekhyun follows. He follows romance._

_And the sight, the sight is that of a fairy's. To the left is a pond (it must belong to a goose, Baekhyun wonders, if maybe he would one day be a goose as well) and to th right is plain fields. The grass is not as thin as the one that his lawn is carpeted with but it appears to be layers on top of layers of grass, coloured with a paint brush._

_Watercolour, the pond is watercolour, and so is Chanyeol. Chanyeol, whose eyes are the moon, whose smile is the sun, whose hands are the planets, whose words are each a new wave of romance. Romance is this._

_Baekhyun looks down. Another second in Chanyeol's eyes is suicide, drowning himself in his own stupidity and blindness. Growing out of the ground are beautiful daisies, wildflowers that reflect the colours of the galaxy. There is white, there is purple, there is blue, there is black, there is the pure sweetness of Baekhyun's smaller frame, there is Frédéric Chopin & Franz Liszt: Meine Freuden on repeat in his head._

_When Baekhyun looks down, all he can see is his shoes compared to Chanyeol's. Chanyeol, Chanyeol, his romance. The fireflies gather so they look less like a fireflies and more like glowing air, warm orange and brown tones reflecting against the side of Baekhyun's jeans. Though it's night time, light is everywhere, from the fireflies to the moon to the stars to Chanyeol. Chanyeol, his own romance story. Chanyeol._

_And Chanyeol takes his hand again, both of them, takes them and wraps them in his own fingers. Baekhyun looks up anyways, and he notices the hanging vines, the soft wind, the small airplanes in the sky that almost look like shooting stars. Baekhyun wants to make a wish. He wishes that this would never end, that Chanyeol would look at him like this until they die, that their hands would never fall apart ever again, that this would end happily like his stories. Like a fairy tale, the fairy tales that are so untrue but bleed themselves into Baekhyun's heart anyways. The hand holding his is resting on his waist now, touching it delicately like it's a flower._

_Chanyeol squeezes his hand and Baekhyun's toes curl up. "You're beautiful," Chanyeol says breathily, deep voice fluttering like the storm of butterflies and anxiety in Baekhyun's stomach. He wants to stay here forever, with Chanyeol's hand on his hips and Chanyeol's breath on his lips. His body no longer freezes (he's sweating at midnight, midnight when the clock strikes twelve)._

_He tilts his head._

_(Baekhyun_ does _feel the spark that everybody seems to miss. It_ does _feel like a fairy tale, and he can't help but feel lied to when everyone he knows tells him of their fails at love. Failure is not a word he would use to describe Chanyeol's lips pressed against his--magical would be more appropriate. He_ does _feel magical, like the Cinderella that never loses her glass slipper. For Chanyeol, Baekhyun will ignore the flowers that wrap themselves around his itching ankles.)_

::

 

It's long due for cleaning day. Baekhyun, as neat as he is, still hates seeing all of his little things build up in his dorm. Along with books there are old records, pencils, even small souvenirs from relatives or friends. Cleaning day is more putting things away and finding places and less mopping the floors. His puppy doesn't do much more than laze around.

 

Five minutes in, Jongdae calls him. Baekhyun almost regrets picking up because the first thing he hears is the other's sharp whine. _"Oh my god, I'm never going clubbing with Zitao again,"_ he wails. Jongdae loves overreacting almost as much as he loves cereal. _"I'm serious. Don't roll your eyes at me."_

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with Zitao." Baekhyun stacks all of his plates neatly in his cupboards. They clink against each other, almost daring one another to jump down and break themselves. but Baekhyun shuts the cupboard doors before they have the chance to slip out of his grasp.

 

 _"He told me to dress casual!"_ Baekhyun rumbles in his throat, something between a grumble and a hum. The bookshelf is overflowing with books and the smell of pure paper. _"So I did, and I wore a nice pair of jeans and one of those jackets, and he shows up in ripped skinnies and a Gucci choker."_

There is no stopping Jongdae now. Baekhyun tries not to breathe as he wipes down the shelves with a wet towel. "I'm not on his side or anything, but you should've seen it coming." Baekhyun's towel gets jammed between the catch of a thick brown book. He tugs at it hopelessly, only succeeding in pulling the book out with it as well. It lands on its face with a resounding _thump_.

 

 _"You're totally on his side,"_ Jongdae hisses. The book is a dictionary. Baekhyun flips through its pages until he catches the two that his towel is caught between, water slowly seeping onto the worn out pages. Wedged right in the glue seal is a folded piece of paper. _"Worst part is, he totally ditched me half way through for this older guy from Canada."_

The paper unfolds itself as soon as Baekhyun frees it. "This is why I don't go to clubs with you," he retorts. "It couldn't have been that bad, though. You practically know everyone in this city."

 

Inside the paper is photos. Polaroid pictures, ugly scenes with Instagram filters etched into them, gingham in the shadows and lark in the lights. It's all Chanyeol throwing a peace sign or Baekhyun smiling too wide for the darkness of the photo. It's all bubble tea shots and abandoned food. It's all smiles and love. _"Still, he had the nerve to do that when he invited me in the first place."_ Baekhyun's reply is caught in his throat. Jongdae only gets more time to complain. _"By the way, the police had to come."_

"Shit, really? What happened?" Polaroid film is incredibly expensive. That's why his original baby blue camera is collecting dust in the corner of his room. It's a waste, Baekhyun thinks as he throws the photos out, gives the book a quick dust, and slides it back into its spot.

 

The pillows need fluffing as well, though fluffing pillows is more like beating pillows. Baekhyun saves that for another day--abusing inanimate objects isn't going to lead to a cleaner dorm. _"So it started when this dude was doing body shots off of this chick, right,"_ Baekhyun nods although Jongdae can't see him, _"and she looked completely wasted. I'm pretty sure she wanted it more, anyways. But suddenly, the boyfriend shows up."_

Baekhyun thinks he's heard this story before. "And then?" he says, half as interested as he sounds. The living room doesn't need as much attention as the bathroom does. There aren't hairs all over the living room floor. There aren't hair and face products in the living room. Baekhyun slides down the hardwood floor, probably leaving another tint of gray on his socks. His puppy comes in through his bedroom, finally making her appearance. Baekhyun lifts her up in one arm and nuzzles her snout, still balancing his phone.

 

 _"He's pissed and shit, but then another girl steps out from the crowd and apparently she's the original girlfriend, or boyfriend, or significant other, or whatever the fuck else there is."_ Noted: Baekhyun no longer thinks he's heard this story before. _"It's barely about body shot guy anymore. Body shot girl, macho boyfriend, and other girlfriend start full out screaming."_

"I swear, if this is the reason three police cars drove past the campus with the loudest sirens ever, I'm going to cry. I was just about to fall asleep, too."

 

Jongdae scoffs from the other line. _"We both know you wouldn't have gotten a good night's sleep anyway."_ Sadly, he's right. Baekhyun walks into the bathroom and is met with the bathtub that he never uses, shirts and pants bending their backs over the bathtub edge. _"I'm going to remind you that both of the chicks looked dainty. Body shot girl had the prettiest highlights--I swear, I want those highlights--and other girlfriend looked like she had never gone outside in her life before."_ Jongdae squawks in laughter. _"Almost like you, but cuter.”_

"Shut the fuck up, Jongdae." Baekhyun gathers the clothes in one pile, throws them into his bedroom, and stars at the mess that is his sink countertop. He lets his puppy free to roam around the dorm.

 

 _"So macho boyfriend screams at other girlfriend, then other girlfriend screams back, and for these few moments the crowd is close to silent. At least eight people are filming."_ Baekhyun listens as he sorts out his hygiene products and makeup into their designated containers. _"Then they calm down and body slam each other, which was really just The Turn Of Events, and they both start screaming at body shot girl."_

 

The story, as exciting as it is, doesn't really call for the police--not yet, at least. "That's nice and all, but..." Baekhyun trails off as he rubs his forehead at the rare sight of a clear counter.

 

 _"Yeah, yeah, I know. Body shot girl has a huge gang of friends, though, because a huge clump of girls with significantly worse hair emerges and yells. They all start yelling, and the crowd starts cheering them on, and that's police car number one. Noise control, probably."_ Baekhyun takes the trash bag by the end and pulls it out of its plastic box hold, almost clinging to it before letting go of it. The plastic trash can bounces on the floor.

 

Baekhyun hiccups, then retches petals into it as silently as possible. _"Macho boyfriend has friends too, and they're all very macho, and one of them is dating body shot girl's bimbo buddy, so he calls body shot girl and her group of friends sluts and then breaks up with body shot girl's friend, and then body shot girl's friend and the rest of the group pretty much run at them. That's car two, because then a fight breaks out."_ Jongdae makes no sign that he had heard Baekhyun at all. _"On top of that, some totally unrelated guy pulls out a pistol. It's not even loaded, and from what I heard afterwards he only pulled it out to make a sound and stop all the chaos 'cause he was scared or something, but that's car three."_

Now that the bathroom is mostly clear, Baekhyun moves to the bedroom. He clears the pillows first, dumping all of the leaves and grass-like skin into the trash. "Where were you at the time?"

 

_"Watching from the bar. Good view. I got the bartender's number. Zitao came down around ten minutes after the whole ordeal ended, still clinging onto the Canadian dude. He only came down 'cause everyone was getting kicked out."_

"This is why I don't go to clubs with you," Baekhyun repeats.

 

::

 

At first, he's not sure why he wakes up. He's not sure why he's sweating, either, tucked under a thin sheet in the middle of the night, toes chilled from the other end. It's not an alarm either, because Baekhyun sets those at intervals, just warning signs for him to clear his throat before he chokes in the middle of the night.

 

He reaches an arm over to pat down the bedside table, eventually finding his phone and pulling it close to him. Although his eyes are still blurry and not adapted to the dark yet, the bright 3:48 on his phone is yelling at him. Three o'clock is not one of those intervals.

 

Baekhyun scoots himself up, so his back is uncomfortably bent against the backboard, then immediately curls up around his stomach again. Something that's not petals is in his throat, something that hurts a lot more than just plain stem. Baekhyun clutches at his chest, his eyes, his hair, coughing up nothing but dryness and blood flakes.

 

It's lodged there. Baekhyun tries bending himself over fully, so that whatever is stuck in his throat might find itself an easier escape route, but all it does is scratch against his soft insides and force him to cough up petals, blood, an entire forest sprouting from his the insides of his cracked lips. His teeth plough through the metal that is the tree roots, his tongue sponges across the grass carpet glued onto itself, his voice resounds by ripping leaves from their homes, sending them upwards and downwards and in directions unseen, unheard of, that is just there, over there. Baekhyun stumbles up from his bed clutching the wall, slender fingers gripping onto nothing but useless dried paint and layers of concrete, spitting open trails of fairies and elves.

 

He's still not cold, though his legs are only clad in boxers and his torso hangs a loose white shirt, windy and thin. Still-life paintings are mass-produced by his mouth. Operas, those of sweet melodies and promising words, those that ground with a nail and hammer. Baekhyun can barely cough anymore, just gargle parched verses. Notes that are high and low at the same time are the ones that escape the clutch of his jaws.

 

Baekhyun, with his mouth wide open and neck slack, stares at himself in the mirror, stares at his very own red eyes and his very own garden, something he's wanted for a long time. He no longer wants one, he wants a clear field, he wants a clear throat.

 

He falls to his knees. They scrape on the cold tile, but the feeling is numbed by the repulsion bubbling in himself, of himself, to himself. In the back of the cabinet is a pair of never used pliers, still in its meek packaging, gripping end clean and sleek. Baekhyun rips it out, rips its packaging and rips its condition out of it.

 

They fit in his mouth. Baekhyun slowly lowers them until they hit the back of his throat, cold material and velvet flesh hissing at each other at the contact. Quick is the only thing it can afford to be, so Baekhyun makes it quick, gives the pliers another quick push and pushes their handles together so it clings onto the edge of something.

 

He pulls. Hard, fast, and then something bulks up and breaks itself from his throat. Another tug and the whole thing comes out, the whole thing that is a tangle of vines and stem and petals.

 

It can never be the whole thing, of course. It is half of the nightmare, little ripped edge haunting Baekhyun, reminding him that it is still inside of him. He takes his phone from his bed and turns on the flashlight, pointing it into his mouth. There it is, the other half, little ripped edge. It almost moves along with Baekhyun, alive, climbing out of his body.

 

The tangle of vines finds its new home in the trash can. So do some more petals. Baekhyun's bedsheets curl around in the washing machine now.

 

He walks to the kitchen, grabs a random mug and fills it with tap water. There's no time for a filter right now. Baekhyun downs it in one go and swallows hard.

 

In the washroom, his forgotten phone rings. Still, it doesn't wake his puppy.

 

::

 

"Hate to say it, but it's too late." Yixing is too comfortable, melting to fit the shape of his chair. "More coffee?"

 

Baekhyun probably needs it, but no amount of caffeine could cover his baggy eyes. Cheap foundation would work better. "What do you mean, it's too late?" His back shakes and he coughs deeply.

 

Yixing kicks him the trash can, but a trash can on its side is not much more than a deformed carpet. "Not on the examination table please," he says. "You're a nice person, but I'm not too fond on wiping up your blood." Baekhyun nods and leans over to pick up the bin, spitting his flowers into the plastic lining.

 

"Right, you want to tell me why I can't get the surgery now?" At the word _surgery_ , his stomach flips. "At this point, I'm ready to start selling bloody petals as Halloween decorations."

 

"Getting ready to buy yourself a mansion so early?" It's a joke, but the air only tightens around Baekhyun's throat. Yixing, however, laughs loud enough for the both of them. "Most of my co-workers don't like me, but that's only because I get paid a lot more because I'm more handsome."

 

Baekhyun takes a good look at Yixing and can't find anything to say otherwise. His sense of humour may be a bit crude and his Korean always a bit off, but those are things that Baekhyun can easily ignore. He hopes that if he's blessed enough to live the next few years, he and Yixing can become good friends.

 

Yixing clears his throat, which sounds fake and staged. "You understand that during surgery for Hanahaki that the feelings disappear along with the flowers, right?"

 

"Of course I do. Isn't that the point?" Baekhyun picks at a small clay roll of dust under his fingernail.

 

"Not exactly, but you can't win 'em all." The other pats his files on his leg and propels himself over on his rolling chair to his large metal filing cabinet, keys dangling from every slot. "If that were the case, that wouldn't be the only risk either. There's always the possibility of a shit surgeon fucking up and accidentally killing you."

 

"These are givens. Get to the point." The dust falls out easily enough and Baekhyun is left with nothing to do other than try to find his reflection in the cheap sink.

 

The filing cabinet is loud. Yixing bangs it shut, suddenly now ten times louder. "You've kind of let it go on for so long that now, if we removed it, we might remove like, all your feelings along with them too."

 

He wasn't informed of this. "All of them?" he asks. Yixing nods.

 

For a second, it doesn't feel like the worst thing. He would never feel lonely, or sad, or empty, or depressed, or pining, or envious, or hope, ever again. It sounds like a Disney movie, where there is no cloud of anxiety raining on him, where there are only the clouds that fade into the night sky, playing wonderful chords and beautiful melodies. Maybe it's not as much of a drawback as Yixing had acted like it was.

 

Then he remembers Jongdae.

 

If he goes under the knife, he'll never smile and share a pizza with Jongdae. He won't be able to tell Zitao how bad his jokes are. There's no more excitement in skipping his homework or his projects. Eventually, there will be no more coffee cups in the trash can.

 

It's embarrassing, crying not once _but twice_ in front of the same doctor, in the same examination room. Once the first tear falls from his eyes to his cheeks the rest chase after it like they're in love. "Oh my god," he says, choking on his tongue. "Oh my god, I'm going to die." Yixing looks significantly surprised, the room gets significantly colder. Millions of needles graze his skin. Baekhyun wants to rip the geese out of their bumps along his arm, he wants to choke them and throw their bodies in a lake. He wants them gone.

 

Skin is just skin, layers that feed off of Baekhyun's despair. He knows that tears are good for his face, he knows that the drops of water will eventually clear his eyes. That, however, is in the future--the future seems far to grasp, a feather among plumes of needles. He stands, clouding sky passing overhead. Baekhyun, then. He cries.

 

"Hey, uh, calm down please." Yixing peels himself off of his chair and walks over to where Baekhyun is huddling together, towering above him awkwardly. "Are you--what do you--" Yixing looks around. "Are you cold? Hungry?"

 

Baekhyun cries more. He shakes and cries. His arms are wet. He cries himself his very own swimming pool, something he's been wanting for so long, but suddenly he doesn't want it anymore. He wants--Chanyeol. He cries and wants and drowns.

 

Yixing lays something over his body and it takes his form, which is that of a boulder. "I know the hospital blankets aren't very thick but that's all we have," Yixing says, scratching the back of his neck. He reaches over to grab his coffee and holds it in front of Baekhyun. "You should drink. You look like you're about to get hypothermia."

 

Baekhyun tries to drink, but instead, he spills it over his hand. The drink isn't hot. "I want to leave please," he says. _You need to collect yourself_.

 

"W-Well how did you get here?" Yixing asks.

 

The tears dry and mix with the coffee, so now there's salty cream and sugar marking his skin. "I walked." He lifts his head up and wipes whatever is still on his face with his sleeve. Yixing visibly cringes.

 

"You don't look stable enough to walk." He pauses with his mouth half parted. "Both mentally and physically. I'll drive you home or something."

 

Baekhyun looks at him with, vision tinted gray or red or whatever colour his eyes are feeling today. Yixing gulps. "Uh, maybe not. I'll drive over to where I live, then, and then I'll give you the guest room and a lot of trash bags, and tissues, or caffeine. Y'know, just do your thing."

 

This sounds better, so Baekhyun tries to smile.

 

::

 

Baekhyun is just waiting in the front lobby, sitting down with a box of tissues, waiting for Yixing to return from wherever--the office, the restroom, he doesn't really care. His hands are not cold anymore, just unresponsive to the thick air. On top of his coat is another coat, Yixing's, gently draped over his shoulders, bulking up with more and more sweatshirts.

 

It's too late for anybody sane to be in the hospital, save for the doctors working the night shifts. When Chanyeol comes in through the elevator, Baekhyun stops trying to force air in and out of his lungs--instead looks at him in wonder, in awe, in pure captivity (but in the end, it's expected. Chanyeol is everywhere--the city, the school, the park, on his mind, in the hotel room, everywhere, no matter how much Baekhyun itches to let Chanyeol slip from his mind.)

 

"Ah," he says with a limping voice, almost a croak. "What brings you here?"

 

His nose is running again. Baekhyun sniffs. "Just a fever," he replies. There's a pharmacy thank you bag hanging from Chanyeol's fingers, so he doesn't ask. Baekhyun hopes that the lights are defective enough for his red eyes to be hidden from sight--his hair only itches them more.

 

Chanyeol walks towards the exit. "Get better soon, then," and then once again, he turns on his heels. "Would you like to visit Kyungsoo and I one more time? We're leaving in a week."

 

His head dips. Chanyeol takes it as a nod, smiles like he's unseen, and slides himself away from the scene.

 

Act two, then Baekhyun is drowning in his very own body. He gasps for air, then lets it all out and ends up on the floor again, beautiful flowers spurting from behind his lips. Blood, there's so much blood, and Baekhyun imagines Chanyeol standing behind him, warm eyes and warm smile and warm arms holding him and telling him _it's okay._

 

It's not okay when Yixing comes back. Baekhyun is falling asleep but he's still strangled, he's so tired but he's waking up again and again. His sight crosses and he's lifted off of his very own pond of blossoms.

 

::

 

Too many people are awake at three. Three is supposed to be Baekhyun's time, right after all the parties end and everyone is asleep or too drunk to be awake. Nobody else is allowed to talk, to move, to do anything at all when Baekhyun's enjoying his very own private hour.

 

The crossing bars forming triangles and arks aren't pretty anymore. This night, the moon is still hidden behind clouds, then birds, then trees, then Baekhyun's very own eyes. The exciting Korean signs are not as exciting. Exclamation marks knife into their sentences. Baekhyun can no longer think very well.

 

The mask he's wearing is thin, but not transparent. He can cough without drawing attention, he can slowly gather the petals in his hand without drawing attention. There will always be people who wonder, who wonder why there are canopies in the waste bin, who wonder why the boy wrapped in blacks and whites is producing such beautiful colours. Baekhyun does not wonder. He knows, he knows too much.

 

He shouldn't be here--not in his hour, doing something he's done too many times before (but when has he said no to Chanyeol? Even in his grave, Baekhyun thinks that if Chanyeol were to wish for his soul to appear once again, his corpse would claw its way out onto the coarse dirt.)

 

"Thank you for your hospitality," Chanyeol says, dimples engraved in his cheeks. Kyungsoo repeats his words although they have not done much more than share a cup of tea or coffee together. Baekhyun bows again--respect is something carved inside his mouth.

 

The flower inside of him is proud of him. Baekhyun keens.

 

"Is that where we go?" Kyungsoo asks. The entrance is blurry in Baekhyun's eyes, obscured by the black mask pulled high up the bridge of his nose.

 

Chanyeol smiles, twists his hand slightly and takes Kyungsoo's into his. "I think so," and Baekhyun can't help but feel as if he's watching a romance movie, one of a hundred people in a small theatre. The lights dim and the spotlight turns on when Chanyeol looks Kyungsoo in the eye. This, this is what Baekhyun dreams of, to be so in love and so forever infatuated. He wants to cherish and to be cherished, he wants affection, he wants--

 

"But before I forget," Chanyeol interrupts, voice almost as smooth as plastic. Kyungsoo nudges him and Chanyeol laughs. He pulls out a box, white and fit perfectly. Baekhyun takes it with both hands.

 

"Thank you," he says. Then, he says goodbye and hugs Kyungsoo and then Chanyeol (whose eyes glow much more, lantern emerging from each pupil), and then they say goodbye, and then step by step they leave, and step by step Baekhyun watches them leave holding the box, and then they enter the terminal with their sides pressed together, then Baekhyun watches them, and then Baekhyun gags for only a second, and then Baekhyun leaves, and then in the taxi, he opens the box.

 

 _Beautiful_ , because in all its simplicity, it is. Pressed plastic, flower petals trapped between its skin, expensive beads strung through tangles of string. It looks expensive, or handmade (maybe Baekhyun could finally put his petals to good use).

 

"Well," Baekhyun mutters to himself, "I wonder when I'll be able to use it."

 

::

 

Nights are the same. The stuck in his throat, the _scritch scratch_ noise whenever he eats dinner.

 

::

 

The bathroom is always a mess. Everything is on the floor save for his toothbrush, toothpaste, and old broken microphone. Baekhyun remembers singing in the washroom, almost like it was mere minutes ago.

 

He slams his fist against the wall, knuckles swelling in pain then fading to a subtle ache. Baekhyun hates, he just purely hates and he pities himself, he pities himself for the mass production of bloody flowers and bloody handprints on his mirror. If he stretches his lips open enough, he can see the tip of the flower clinging to the wall of his throat--the pliers won't work, not unless he wants to scratch his own throat out.

 

He screams in broken tongue, looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is too long, it's streaky and wet and clumping together. In the shades of black and white there are his eyes, bloodshot, too red for fear. "Why," he sobs, at the thought. The thought of. "Why won't you fucking die?" Baekhyun tries throwing his head into the mirror again with a loose grip on the countertop. He ends up falling into his arms where the tears have already claimed their home and he shrinks.

 

A shard of ceramic clay from one of his old vases is right beside his wrist. Baekhyun looks at it, then looks at each and every one of his veins and arteries dancing up and down his arm.

 

"But then who's going to say no to Jongdae's parties?" he tells his own shaking hands.

 

::

 

The mask doesn't make him look like a hip hop dancer in a gang, so that's something Baekhyun can be thankful for. It's probably the small star print on it, or just the fact that Baekhyun's underlying thoughts have always been pretty wrong, or that it smells like the campus garden.

 

He stands in front of the mirror, nudging the mask over his mouth a bit to the left, a bit to the right, a  bit up,  a bit down. If he does it right, it looks flat against his face and only his lips show up against the fabric. And the day is cold enough to actually be mask-acceptable.

 

In spite of time, he takes an Uber. His driver doesn't ask any questions, just as silent as Baekhyun except without the coughing.

 

By now, Baekhyun has memorized the steps to Yixing's office. Take the elevator until security is about to stop you and then make a dash up the stairs, turn left, right, up, own, adjust his mask again (and he's in front of Yixing's door just like that--he wants to kick the door open and say _"Hey bitch, it's your favourite patient"_ but security is always going to be faster than his voice.) So instead, he knocks on the door with the side of his fist and tries to melt into the wall.

 

Yixing, no matter how tired he looks, always manages to slide his chair over to the door and open it with his hands full--maybe he uses his chin? Or his feet?  Or perhaps being a doctor also entails telekinetic powers, or maybe--

 

"Hi, Baek," Yixing says, widening the door as silently as possible for Baekhyun to slip in, still sticking to the wall. As soon as the door closes he moves so his back is leaning against it and he brings his hands in front of his mask. "What's up with you? A fever? Maybe heartsickness?"

 

Baekhyun looks at him with the most unamused look in his eyes he can make.

 

Yixing nods his head slowly and gulps. "Right, sorry. But really, what's up with the mask?"

 

This is where Baekhyun will either run back outside and into a car or let Yixing laugh at him in misery. He tugs the black piece of fabric down, adjusting it below his chin, feeling his ears bend as the straps stretch down. Now that his lips are exposed to the cold, he parts them slightly to air his mouth out the best he can. His throat feels empty, finally, so maybe he really _should_ try to feel glad.

 

"Oh," Yixing says.

 

They stand there--well, Yixing gets up and down a couple of times. Baekhyun thinks doctors aren't very used to this happening. "Oh," he says again. "Can I touch it?"

 

Baekhyun nods. Yixing remains standing and bends his back to gently place his fingers on the big violet flower springing from Baekhyun's mouth. "I hope this doesn't hurt you," Yixing says before loosening all of the flowers petals. From a distance, it looks like Baekhyun has just put the stem of a flower in his mouth leaving the actual blossom resting on his lips. Yixing pulls the receptacle of the flower out by an inch and runs his hand along the little bit of thin stems attached to it leading into Baekhyun's mouth.

 

"This hasn't happened before," he finally says after toying around with the flower some more. "Can you talk?"

 

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows. "Right, right," Yixing says, pausing in his unconscious pacing. "Does it hurt?" Baekhyun shakes his head.

 

"Did it hurt when I pulled on it?" Baekhyun shakes his head.

 

"Do you think we could just pull it out and have it done with?" Baekhyun shakes his head.

 

He asks more questions, yes and no only, then falls backwards into his chair in frustration. "It's amazing that you're alive, but it's also so fucking frustrating that I can't ask you any more than yes or no questions."

 

Yixing also takes a picture of Baekhyun, with his purple petals blooming from his mouth. "You really shouldn't be alive," Yixing says. He then hits his forehead and curses. "I mean, it's great that you _are_ alive, but I don't know how. You really should be dead, if the flower has made its way past your lips."

 

Baekhyun stays there for hours listening to Yixing talk and talk and show him articles and talk. "If there's no itch in your throat, the stem must be either really easy to ignore or thinner than stems with leaves, or maybe there are no leaves at all."

 

An hour past midnight, he points at his flower. "I looked it up and it's a Korean Aster flower, but the thing is, yours has no leaves. Why aren't there leaves, or any scratches anymore at all?"

 

Thirty minutes pass. "I found it!" Yixing almost yells again until he realizes how late--or early it is. "Look at it Baekhyun, look at it."

 

Baekhyun looks, but he doesn't say. Yixing talks for him instead. _"Hanahaki-induced flowers will lose their petals if alive for long enough._ That's crazy shit." Baekhyun agrees. Everything is crazy shit, if he's being deathly honest.

 

"Fuck, it's really unsettling seeing you struggle to talk," Yixing voices. Baekhyun thinks that maybe it is really unsettling, to see somebody with a flower in their mouth silently standing in the corner. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

 

Baekhyun nods.

 

::::

 

"Have you been eating properly lately? Considering you can't really eat well."

 

He's about to nod, but lying would do him no good, so he shakes his head instead. Yixing frowns at him.

 

"Do you maybe want some soup? A drink? Coffee?" Yixing apparently loves asking questions. "How are you feeling? Sick?"

 

Baekhyun holds up three fingers and hopes that Yixing will understand him. He seems to, eyes lilting in mellow. "I'll be right back then," he says, walking out of the office with his wallet in hand.

 

Eight minutes later (Baekhyun really isn't counting), he comes back with two steaming cups and a bit of cake.

 

Yixing clears his throat after downing his cake and coffee. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

 

::

 

"Want to get out of here?"

 

This time, he does nod. The office has no windows and the building itself is more like a prison. Baekhyun slips his mask on using his phone camera as a mirror, moving the phone up and down, angling it so every possible flaw can be fixed. Baekhyun settles for loosening it and tugging it above his nose as well.

 

They go places. Yixing almost takes them to a cafe, and a karaoke bar, and his apartment. Instead, they end up freezing cold beside a lake.

 

"This is such a bad idea," Yixing says as his teeth chatter to themselves endlessly, talking and talking and talking. But when Baekhyun looks back at him Yixing stops complaining and he smiles and Baekhyun smiles behind his mask too.

 

Baekhyun takes a picture of Yixing with the reflection of the night sky smeared across the lake. He shows Yixing. When Yixing smiles, his dimples show. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

 

::

 

"How are you feeling today?"

 

Baekhyun grunts, or croaks, or sings the national anthem in horse. He's in a much better mood.

 

Yixing does a check up. "Well, the good news is your flower isn't growing."

 

Baekhyun throws his head back in exasperation, pure exasperation and a little bit of humour. He tries asking things in hand signals. He tries to say _will_ in hand but all he ends up with is Yixing looking at him like he's crazy.

 

"But since you're not dead, I think it won't go away." Yixing answers his question although he's still half-mindedly talking to the wall. "Not unless you move on."

 

He looks up at Baekhyun. "Can you come back tomorrow?"

 

::

 

_It's the night._

_Baekhyun has never gone to prom before, which subsequently means this is his first time with also subsequently means he has no idea what to do other than wait for Chanyeol to pick him up. Thankfully the night is warm and the park is empty save him, himself and him alone basking in the warm glow of the stars that seem cold to everyone but him._

_Really, he shouldn't be this happy. Not when he and Chanyeol had just had an argument, a stupid argument over nothing at all really. It started with Chanyeol asking Baekhyun why he was always on his phone texting, and then it escalated to something worse, and then Baekhyun said they should take a break._

_It was him that said it, but Baekhyun likes to think that he's the one that was hurt the most from it no matter how selfish that thought must be. In his mind, there was no fight, there is no disagreement--there is only kisses under the trees and sneaking out at midnight, there is only Chanyeol smiling and telling him he loves him, over and over and again. There is only them in the world, or maybe there is no world at all, and there is just only them._

_Baekhyun texts Chanyeol, legs drawn up to splay to his side. 'waiting for u now,' he says. But it's getting lonely, and prom is twenty minutes away from starting._

_He's glad he brought a book. Baekhyun leans across the length of the bench, legs propped up on one arm rest and neck propped up on the other. He reads mostly from the night sky, or sometimes the soft glow from his phone as he checks his messages._

_Baekhyun finishes two chapters until he closes his book and realizes he's dropped his bookmark._

_He goes back inside and texts Chanyeol again. He makes himself a cup of coffee. Prom started long enough ago for Jongdae to be asking him where he was._

_Baekhyun goes back outside and sits on the bench without his book, without his phone, just with his hands in his lap and his feet on the chalky pavement. He waits facing the road, his road with three broken streetlights and no neighbour in the other house, his road with dust that's unseen, his road with birds flying high above where they are stars as well._

_He waits facing the road. Then, he goes back inside._

_'where are you?' he asks._

::

 

 

_Then, Baekhyun graduates._

::

 

"Remember what I said?"

 

Baekhyun leans his head on Yixing's shoulder. He nods there, hoping his small action will nudge Yixing enough to get him to understand. His mask is limp on the coffee table.

 

Yixing's apartment is large and clean and very, very empty. Baekhyun thinks he'd like it a lot better with more pillows.

 

"Eventually, the flower will disappear. And then we can talk again." Yixing laughs into the empty air, filling the space with his voice. Baekhyun laughs too--but just a little bit, and very softly, and just that pinch so his eyes don't crinkle, and neither does his nose, and Baekhyun thinks he likes Yixing a lot.

 

Their hands meet before their eyes do. Baekhyun thinks Yixing works way too much to be considered healthy.

 

"Thank you," Baekhyun murmurs, voice hoarse and creaking but there. Yixing kisses him past the flower.

 

::

 

"I'm telling you one more time, Dae, do _not_ mess up my dorm room." Baekhyun hopes his hands on his hips are making him more intimidating, though they're probably only making him look like an angry eight year old.

 

Jongdae scoffs and lets himself in. "Since when do I ever?" He walks in and then steps on something two seconds.

 

"I should throw that out," Baekhyun says, pushing Jongdae off of whatever he stepped on.

 

Jongdae tumbles towards the couch and curses as his hands get dusty again. "I swear, man, there isn't anything here to mess up. You've got dust on the couch and dead plants on the floor."

 

Baekhyun's rolls his eyes hard enough to send Jongdae staggering to his feet. "If you're only here to shade my dorm room, you might as well leave."

 

They eat dinner at Baekhyun's dorm. At eight, Baekhyun kicks Jongdae out. "Leave, you asswipe." Jongdae winks at him and smiles obnoxiously before getting the door shut on his face.

 

He finishes another chapter of his book.

 

Baekhyun takes his phone from the kitchen island, turns the alarm off before it rings, and puts his coat on while trying to open the dorm room door at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> i hate this fanfiction im debating on deleting it smh


End file.
